Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Pages inked of fables muse your scent,
The last rose of winter & its fairytale,
Queen to moon elves in robes swanlike,
What mighty heart did you let unbent?
Amid the cold love of dragons & pike,
Grove, hill, highland we could dwell,
Alone must the stars be if ever I wail,
‘On parting steps did I script my hell?’